Norscan High King Vamir Aesling, his crimson eyes aglow within his horned Chaos helm, watched the smoldering ruins of Erengrad.
The siege had raged for seven days and nights. Even Aesling found himself respecting the Kislevites' resilience, though such respect held no mercy. To a Norscan, the greatest honor one could bestow upon an enemy was a valiant death, with their skulls proudly displayed as trophies.
Under Aesling's command, massive siege towers crawled forward. Each bristled with battle-thirsty Norscan berserkers and Chaos warriors, their weapons ringing out a ferocious rhythm. Norscan shamans and Chaos sorcerers chanted curses, calling down lightning upon their foes, while hordes of twisted beasts writhed with anticipation, eager to carry out the will of the dark gods. To the relentless beat of drums, rows of crazed warriors, warped beastmen, and deranged mutants surged forward, each vying for one last glance from their gods.
"For Chaos!" came the battle cry, echoing across the battlefield in waves. The Kislev defenders fought back with arrows, rifles, and cannons, tearing down their foes in droves, only to have more fanatics take their place. The walls of Erengrad, manned by steadfast defenders and Red Navy sailors, poured down volleys of bullets and bolts, shredding the relentless assault.
Despite the Kislevite defenses, the relentless waves of monstrous attackers soon reached the city walls. Brass grappling hooks snagged onto the battlements as mutated claws and pincers gripped the stone, clawing their way up. Though these twisted creatures made little headway against the well-trained defenders, they nonetheless depleted Kislev's ammunition and wore down the garrison. To Aesling, they were expendable pawns, mere fodder to exhaust the defenders.
Soon, the fortress walls ran slick with blood and piled high with corpses, both friend and foe. Kislevite cannons continued to pound the oncoming Chaos formations, yet as the first siege towers touched the walls, the battle reached a fever pitch. Norscans streamed onto the battlements, roaring their defiance even as Red Navy sailors met them with unyielding ferocity. Tower after tower was set aflame or toppled, while countless warriors met their end before ever reaching the wall.
After a day of futile attempts, Aesling's patience wore thin. He turned to the Chaos Dwarves and reluctantly accepted their terms.
Three Hellcannons, engines of pure malice, rumbled onto the field. Each was fed the flesh and souls of hundreds of Kislevite prisoners, who shrieked in terror as they were tossed into the gaping maws of the daemon-forged machines. With a roar that twisted the very air, the cannons unleashed fiery projectiles, tearing apart Erengrad's northeast walls in a single blow, and smashing through the defenders below, reducing the once-proud structure to rubble and chaos.
"Rise, soldiers! Do not falter! Ursun stands with you!" The High Priest of Ursun, Bagratyon, stood upon the shattered battlements, invoking the strength of the bear god. "Always with us!"
"By Ursun's might!" he cried, and his prayer was answered. A radiant light shone over Kislev's defenders, as the divine presence of Ursun filled each soldier with pride and resolve. For a thousand years, Kislev had never fallen. Today would be no different.
Chaos sorcerers and shamans found their spells weakened as Kislev's defenders fought with renewed fury, rallying to Bagratyon's cry.
"Forward, comrades! For the Motherland!" The Red Navy soldiers became black-clad fiends of vengeance, hurling themselves against Chaos warriors and Norscan berserkers. Driven by Ursun's blessing, the defenders launched a counterattack, retaking ground and driving Chaos forces out of the city.
Erengrad still stood.
For another three days and nights, the Norscans continued their onslaught.
And still, Erengrad stood.
Two weeks passed, and the city's defenders refused to yield. Nearly 50,000 had died upon the walls, and the remaining 350,000 men, women, and children fought to the last breath, their steel and unbreakable resolve refusing to give Aesling an inch.
The Norscan mountain legions, too, had paid a heavy price. Over 20,000 lay dead, yet reinforcements from the northern wastes kept Aesling's numbers at 45,000. Still, he sensed the weariness in his troops. Extended sieges bored the Norscan warriors, who chafed at their inability to claim spoils or offer sacrifices to their gods. Dissension stirred among the ranks as warriors grew frustrated with the slow attrition.
Aesling himself began to doubt the plan. If he continued to be bogged down here, would he share the same fate as during the failed 35-year siege of Old Dragon City? Thoughts of abandoning the siege and joining Archaon's advancing main force crept into his mind.
At that moment, a former Kislevite winged hussar general, Vlasov, entered Aesling's tent. Having defected at Zedovka, he now offered his services to the Norscans.
That night, the war horns rang out once more, louder and harsher than before, reverberating across the battlefield and drowning out the clamor of combat. At Erengrad's port, Chaos ships crept towards a hidden gate beneath the waterline. Norscan raiders stormed the bay, and Admiral Kuznetsov rushed to intercept them.
Simultaneously, a massive explosion erupted from the northern foundations of the walls. The ground shuddered as an entire section crumbled, sending rubble and flames crashing down. Massive beasts with shaggy fur smashed through the wreckage, leading the Chaos forces into the heart of the city. Thousands of horned warriors and snarling Chaos hounds followed, transforming the northern battle into a brutal massacre.
The siege of Erengrad had reached a new level of intensity. Within the city, defenders fell back to the temples and fortified buildings: the Temple of Manann, the Witch's House, the Shrine of Verena, the Hall of Justice, the Temple of Thor, and the command center at Frosthaven Inn all became flashpoints in the fierce resistance. Yet Norscan forces poured into the city like a dark flood, overwhelming all in their path.
Amidst the burning ruins, the Norscan High King's elite "Octagram" retinue, all Chaos-blessed warriors, formed an honor guard for Aesling's triumphant entrance into Erengrad. Mounted upon his Chaos bull, he trod over the corpses of Kislevite civilians and soldiers alike, arrows and bullets shattering upon his armor.
General Vlasov, now a Chaos Champion, trailed behind him, his betrayal completed.
Aesling's presence shattered what remained of Kislev's morale. One by one, defenders fell. The Temple of Manann was razed, and the historic West Palace was looted to its bare walls. As Aesling prepared to deliver the final blow to the defenders, a figure, bathed in divine and fiery light, stepped into his path.
It was Bagratyon, Ursun's Champion, standing in defiance of the Chaos warlord. Wielding a colossal skull-crusher mace, the High Priest wore the bear god's blessed half-plate, draped in a bearskin cloak, and crowned with a bear pelt hood.
"O Ursun, I call upon you!" the Champion bellowed, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "Evil threatens mortals—Chaos ravages Kislev—lead me, show me the path!"
A crack tore through the dark clouds as radiant light poured down over Erengrad, a blinding beacon illuminating the city. Divine rays and swirling snow descended upon Bagratyon, imbuing him with Ursun's full strength.
Bagratyon's transformation was immediate. Golden light burned in his eyes, and a bear's symbol appeared upon his brow, radiating with a strength that echoed through the entire city. He embodied the fierce blood and spirit of the Kislevite people, as unyielding as the northern winds, their last, defiant guardian against evil.
Swathed in holy light and snow, Bagratyon roared, and a host of white bear spirits surged forth from him, tearing through the Norscan ranks.
Their eyes met: the bear god's chosen and the Chaos warlord. Bagratyon raised his hammer in challenge.
Aesling accepted, ordering his guard to withdraw. He would face Ursun's chosen in single combat.
The duel began in the ruins of Erengrad's streets. Bolstered by Ursun's strength, Bagratyon fought evenly with Aesling. Fueled by desperation, the High Priest struck with unrestrained power. Their blows rang out like thunderclaps, Ursun's might clashing against Chaos's corruption, shaking the very ground.
The duel set the night sky ablaze with radiant lights, a furious display of power like fireworks over the burning city. After several grueling minutes, Bagratyon seized an opening, delivering a crushing blow that shattered Aesling's defenses and struck his shoulder. The High King staggered but retaliated, swinging his blood-hungry axe across Bagratyon's exposed chest.
Ursun's blessed emblem absorbed the impact but shattered in the process, sparing Bagratyon's life by a hair's breadth.
With his rune sword, Aesling drove Bagratyon back, pressing
his advantage until they were locked face to face. He leaned in close, his voice icy and taunting.
"Chaos is indivisible."
Multicolored flames enveloped Aesling as he invoked blessings from each of the dark gods. Strength surged through him, and he forced Bagratyon's hammer aside.
With his other hand, Aesling seized his bloodstained axe and drove it into Bagratyon's side.
Armor shattered, flesh tore, and the world fell silent.
Bagratyon's hammer clattered to the ground, its divine light extinguished as the last vestiges of Ursun's power drained away.
The High King's rune sword sliced forward, and Bagratyon's vision went dark.
Thus, on that day, the youngest High Priest of Ursun, Bagratyon, fell in Erengrad's defense.
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